A Study in Five Night's at Freddy's
by Shadow Van Helsing
Summary: What is the secret behind the game Five Night's at Freddy's? Is it just a harmless game or is something more sinister going on? Whatever the answer, Sherlock is determined to find out- even if it means exposing Scott Crawthon as a criminal mastermind.
1. Chapter 1

**Me and** **steathhunter4l worked on this together. We both love Sherlock and we both love FNAF's sooo...**

* * *

"Goddamit!" John Watson shouted. Sherlock Homes looked up from the human eyeball he was dissecting to see what the fuss about.  
"What's all that noise about, John?" he shouted.  
"Coming from the man who tried to get Mycroft to program Big Ben to chime louder!" John shouted back.  
"I was on a case!" Sherlock protested.  
"No you weren't- you were bored."  
"Which is why I was on a case. Besides, half of London doesn't know when to eat their lunch due to the fact that half of London can't even _hear _Big Ben's chime!"  
"People do have watches and iPhones, you know, Sherlock," John replied sarcastically.  
"Irrelevant! Why were you cursing, anyway?"  
Sherlock heard John give a loud sigh and he dropped the eye on the table and went into the lounge room.  
"It's this stupid Foxy the Pirate- he keeps getting me every time," John complained, sitting on his armchair with a laptop on his lap.  
Sherlock frowned.  
"You're breathing heavily. Either you are watching compromising videos or playing Five Night's at Freddy's again," he deduced. John shot him a dirty look.  
"I'm playing Five Night's at Freddy's," he muttered. Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"I don't understand why you find such a childishly simple game threatening and why you insist on playing it."  
"It's trending," John said simply.  
"No excuses," Sherlock snapped. John scowled.  
"You're cranky?" Sherlock asked.  
"Ya' think? I don't understand why you don't give the game a chance!"  
"It's a child's game. Scary noises and pictures have always bothered you though, on the other hand, I would have expected you to be passable at something a child could do."  
"A child! You think a child could do better?" John asked, his face twitching ever so slightly.  
"Without a doubt," Sherlock responded, turning back towards the kitchen. John stood up, shoved Sherlock towards his seat and dumped the laptop in his lap.  
"Well fine then," John snapped. "If a child can do it, then the world's biggest baby can do it!"  
"This is ridiculous," Sherlock protested.  
"Shut up, Sherlock," John replied automatically. "You are a ridiculous man, as you said at my wedding!"  
"Yes but-"  
"What are you boys up to?" asked Mrs Hudson, delivering some tea and biscuits.  
"I'm trying to get Sherlock to play Five Night's at Freddy's," John answered.  
"Oh dear, I once played that game. Couldn't sleep for a week after that. At my time of age that is not a good thing," Mrs Hudson prattled.  
"Mrs Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" Sherlock said as nastily as he could.  
"Oh Sherlock…" Mrs Hudson said, clearly upset. She hurried on out of the room as fast as her little old legs could carry her.  
"Well that was nice," John muttered sarcastically. Then there was the sound of footsteps and John's beloved wife, Mary, entered the room.  
"Hey Babe," said John. She went over to him and kissed him.  
"Oh for God's sake…" Sherlock muttered. He sent a text to Lestrade saying _Help_! as John and Mary continued to suck-face.  
"Anytime you're ready…" Sherlock muttered.  
"Shut up, Sherlock," Mary laughed, pulling away from John.  
"Are you playing Five Night's at Freddy's?" she asked.  
"Yep!" said John. Mary laughed again.  
"I once played it. Even my nerves of steel acquired by my ninja assassin training couldn't prepare me for when Bonnie first jumped out at me!" She looked at Sherlock. "Have you played it yet?"  
"No, and I never intend to," Sherlock replied.  
Sherlock's phone rang. He answered it.  
"Hello Freak, have you played Five Nights at Freddy's yet?" Sargent Donavon said. Sherlock immediately hung up, cursing.  
Suddenly, the door to the front room burst open and in walked Detective Inspector Lestrade walked in, gun in hand.  
"Garry, put your pea-shooter away," Sherlock said.  
"It's Greg, actually," Lestrade said, annoyed. He looked around and realised that it wasn't an emergency, he slid his gun back in his holster.  
"What's going on, Sherlock?" he asked.  
"Everyone is trying to make me play Five Nights at Freddy's-"  
"Five Nights at Freddy's? You haven't played that game? C'mon, Sherlock, everyone has played it but you!" Lestrade interrupted. Sherlock glared at him.  
"Why is everyone bugging me to play Five Night's at Freddy's?!" he shouted.  
"Ahem, speaking of bugs…" came the voice of Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock whirled around to find Mycroft stumbling at of a closet.  
"Mycroft, what are you doing in my closet?!" Sherlock asked, enraged.  
"I'm not the only one…" Mycroft murmured. Molly Hooper coughed, and fell out the closet behind him.  
"Molly!" John yelped. Mycroft straightened his suit and swung his umbrella around in a circle before pointing it at Sherlock.  
"Dear brother, I need you to play Five Night's at-"  
"No!" the cry came out of Sherlock before he had time to stop it. He turned around, and walked quickly to his room, slamming the door behind him. Mycroft winced.  
"Takes me back to when he hit puberty," he muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

It took Sherlock awhile to fall asleep, but when he did, strange dreams came to him. Although at first, he didn't realize he was dreaming.  
In his dream Sherlock wore the same outfit that had become his public image- heavy black coat, his favorite scarf and that stupid deerstalker/killer-death-Frisbee hat on is head.  
He found himself in very unfamiliar surroundings, it was some sought of funhouse of winding corridors, adorning the walls were pictures of "cute" and "friendly" blocky looking animatronics, any child or john would no doubt find the image of them cute, but an educated mind like His own recognized for them for what they were at first glance.

Abominations of everything that was logical in this world.

He paced forward, trying not to glance at the posters on all the walls- posters of the animatronics doing bad things to children. He came upon a wall of dark purple curtains covered in bright stars.  
He pulled the curtain back and out burst the face of one of the animatronics-Freddy?- that had adorned the walls.  
He quickly stumbled backwards as Freddy's body slinked out from behind the curtain- except it wasn't Freddy's body.  
Sherlock quickly realized that the figure that had jumped out at him was only wearing a mask. The figure also wore a suit.  
"Hello, Sexy, scared by loud noises?" a familiar voice asked. Sherlock frowned, and then the figure removed his Freddy mask and Sherlock gasped. It was Jim Moriarty!  
"Where am I? How are you here?" Sherlock asked his voice wavering if only for a second.  
"And there you go again, asking obvious questions. Take a look around and make your own deductions- you're meant to be good at that," Moriarty said mockingly as he pulled his mask fully away.  
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked around.  
He realized exactly where he was two seconds later.  
"Freddy Fazbear's Family Diner," Sherlock said simply.  
"Well done you can use your eyes. But now answer your second question."  
"Your dead."  
"No shit, Sherlock! A good start, so what does that tell you?"  
"I'm dreaming."  
"CONGRATULATIONS!" Moriarty yelled clapping his hands together, multi colored stars flew out of his hands.  
"I don't dream." Sherlock stated, irritated.  
"Well, you're dreaming now, Sexy," Moriarty sniggered.  
"Yes, but why?"  
"I don't know- you're the one dreaming. But I'll tell you what I think. I think that perhaps your brain senses that something it up with the game, Five Night's at Freddy's, but poor Sherlock is well behind it."  
"What are you talking about?"  
"You're on the side of the angels- how could you possibly understand?" Moriarty asked, dragging his voice out.  
"WHAT, do you mean?" Sherlock asked.  
Moriarty put his face in his hands.  
"How have you not figured it out? It's more than just a simple game, SOOO much more then that. Scott Cawthon, the little genius who made this game, is definitely much more cunning then ordinary people but I wouldn't have thought that he could surpass even the Great Sherlock Holmes. Guess I was wrong," Moriarty sounded almost disappointed.  
"No, it's a simple, ridiculous game about animatronics trying to kill an exceptionally dim night guard," Sherlock insisted.  
"Perhaps, but I get the feeling you don't really think that," Moriarty grinned. Sherlock didn't say anything to that.  
"Take the case, Sherlock…"  
"What case?"  
"The game. Play the game. Things are not always what they appear to be…"  
Sherlock let out a sigh.  
"Where's the exit?" he asked. Moriarty frowned.  
"I want to get out of this dream. Where's the exit?" Sherlock explained. Moriarty smiled.  
"Ah, yes. Behind you," he said.  
"Thanks," said Sherlock.  
"Anytime."  
As he went through the exit, a cold hand gripped his arm, and pulled him forward…  
and then Sherlock awoke in a cold sweat.

When Sherlock went down for breakfast, he found Mycroft sitting in his spot.  
"Dear Brother-"Mycroft began.  
"Mycroft, vacate my seat before I throw my shoes at you," Sherlock snapped. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and stood up.  
"I take it you finished your temper tantrum?" Mycroft asks.  
"Shut up, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped. Mycroft shrugged. John was already at the table, reading a newspaper, a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him (courtesy of Mrs. Hudson, of course)  
"So, Sherlock, Mycroft has something to say to you," John said through a mouthful of bacon.  
"Of course," said Sherlock. He favoured Mycroft with a glare.  
"Sherlock, I need you to play the game Five Night's at Freddy's," Mycroft said.  
"No."  
"Why do you _need_ him to play it?" John asked over his coffee mug.  
"It is a matter of national-"  
"Why does this coffee taste funny?" John interrupted.  
"It had a human eyeball fluid in it- I was dissecting an eye yesterday, remember? Your real coffee is on the bench," Sherlock answered. John left the room, almost certainly to throw up, leaving Sherlock and Mycroft alone together. Mycroft sighed.  
"It is a matter of paramount interest to the government." Mycroft stated simply.  
"I become less interested the more you talk, why should I care what your group of professional blustered do?"  
"Scott Cawthorn, the creator of the game has recently come under suspicion for murder. He is a world renowned computer hacker, accused of several accounts of murder, but the trouble is, we don't have enough evidence to put him behind bars. That's where you come in," Mycroft gave Sherlock a sharp-toothed grin.  
"We believe he's left clues in his game _Five Night's at Freddy's_ about one of his recent murders. Sherlock, play the game and solve the mystery behind it."  
Now Sherlock was interested.  
"Why don't you do it yourself?" He asked.  
"I'm an important person, Sherlock. I have a whole country of Goldfish to run- it can't very well can't run itself."  
"Sounds interesting. O.K, Mycroft, you win. I'll play the game."  
"Really?" Mycroft asked, surprised. Sherlock nodded and then gestured to John's laptop, which was still open onto the game.  
"The game, Mycroft, is most certainly on," Sherlock grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock picked up the laptop and sat down in his chair. Mycroft had left hours ago, presumably to work out his tummy flab. Sherlock took a deep breath and pressed 'N_ew Game'_, just as John walked into the room, non-eyeball coffee mug in hand.  
"Sherlock, what are you doing? Did you just hit new game? You tit, I was up to Night 5!" John wailed, kicking a chair.  
"John, stop putting whiskey in your coffee, it makes you drunk" Sherlock muttered, waiting for the game to load.  
"I'm not drunk, I'm seriously annoyed with you!" John yelled picking up the chair and throwing it out the window.  
"Mrs Hudson isn't going to like that," Sherlock remarked. He looked back to the laptop. A dull, uninteresting office appeared in front of him. He turned back to John.  
"You can have the game when I'm finished."  
"It's not the same! You just deleted my game!" John yelled.  
_''Hello? Hello? Um, I wanted to record a message for you…" _came the voice of Phone Guy. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He knew Phone Guy's speeches off by heart- not because he had purposely stored them in his Mind Palace, but because John played this game so much, that Phone Guy's speeches kind of drilled into Sherlock's brain. He had tried 'deleting' them, but every time he did, John would play the game again.  
"I'm going to Mary's," John sulked.  
"You should- she's due to give birth any day now," Sherlock murmured distractedly. John hissed something under his breath and left.  
Good, now Sherlock could play the game in peace.  
By that time, Phone Guy had finished his stupidly long monologue and Bonnie the Bunny was due to make his move any moment flickered through the cameras, stopping when he reached the Show Stage. Those stupid animatronics were in their stupid, stupid places.  
_God, I feel stupid, playing this stupid game!_ Sherlock thought. He was bored, flickering through the cameras, not really knowing what he was looking for.  
He flickered back to the Show Stage and was annoyed to see that Bonnie was gone.  
'_Showtime_' Sherlock thought sarcastically.  
He tried to find that stupid Bonnie creature. Sherlock knew from John's constant yelling that Bonnie only ever came through on the left, so why bother labeling them east and west?  
Sherlock was glad John wasn't here to see him play this ridiculous game. He would probably put it on his blog.  
Sherlock was still trying to find Bonnie  
He found the stupid bunny on the display of the camera just outside 'his' room (thought he would never want to assume the identity of someone foolish enough to stay in this sort of environment)  
Sherlock lowered the camera and went to check his door.  
He let out a word that he hoped John would never have the pleasure of hearing as Bonnie suddenly materialized in his door-way.  
Sherlock scowled and closed the door in his face. So far, Sherlock's strategy that was supposed to work on this game was failing. He deduced that he would have to have at least 50% power by the time the clock hit 3:00am.  
By his calculations, if he didn't open the door right now, he wouldn't have enough power to last him the night. But Bonnie refused to leave.  
"Get lost, you stupid mistake of science!" Sherlock shouted at the game. Mrs Hudson came in, a displeased look on her little old face.  
"Sherlock, would you mind keeping it down? I'm trying to take my morning nap," Mrs Hudson said.  
"Mrs Hudson, I fail to see how your morning nap is different from your evening nap, or even your nightly nap. Because they are all the same-"  
Whatever Sherlock was about to say would remain forever unsaid as Bonnie the Bunny leaped across the screen and made horrible screeching sounds, scaring him out of his chair.  
Mrs Hudson started to giggle hysterically as she saw Sherlock jump.  
"Oh my God, Sherlock, you jumped! I'm texting John about this!" Mrs Hudson laughed, walking out the room.  
The implications of Mrs Hudson's words sank in.  
"John cannot know I have emotions!" he shouted, sulking.  
Alright, fun time was over. Though Sherlock would never admit it, it was time to bring in the experts.

John giggled like a little girl when he received Mrs Hudson's text. He knew that Bonnie would be the first animatronic to give little Sherlock nightmares tonight. He was still smiling when he opened the door to 221B and went upstairs. His smile disappeared when he entered the living room.  
"What the…?"  
There were laptops everywhere. On his couch, sat Sherlock.  
"What are you doing?" John asked Sherlock.  
"John, I am convinced that this game was developed purely to torture me. I can't be bothered playing it," Sherlock said. John studied one of the laptops.  
"Are all those walkthroughs of Five Nights at Freddy's?" he asked.  
"Yep," Sherlock said.  
"Even the second game?"  
"Yep. And by examining hours upon hours of walkthrough footage, it can be concluded that Scott Crawthon is indeed the Purple Guy," Sherlock said.  
"How can you tell?" John asked.  
"He posted 'I like Purple' on his Facebook page."  
"Sherlock, I don't think-"  
"I know you don't think," Sherlock interrupted.  
"that just because Crawthon likes the colour purple, doesn't mean he's the Purple Guy," John continued, ignoring Sherlock's comment.  
"But, John, purple is the colour of sex, and Purple Guy is clearly a pedophile," Sherlock was speaking quicker now.  
"Yeah, but you can't actually link that back to Scott Crawthon," John protested.  
"As usual, you see but you do not observe. Purple Guy is actually Phone Guy, and Scott Crawthon voices Phone Guy," Sherlock gushed.  
"Purple Guy is not Phone Guy," John spoke up.  
"What? Phone Guy is clearly the Purple Guy."  
"No, he not, he's the day-shift guy!"  
"Wait, what? Based on what evidence?"  
"Based on logic, you stupid poppingjay!"  
"Logic? Ha! You know no such word!"  
"I know more about Five Nights at Freddy's then you!" John shouted.  
"Not possible!"  
Mrs Hudson walked in again, annoyed look her face.  
"Are you two having a domestic?"  
"What? No!" John said quickly.  
Sherlock's phone buzzed. It was a text from Mycroft.  
_Stop Arguing and start deducing things! I can hear your domestic from my spot in Parliament!_ The text read.  
Sherlock angrily texted Mycroft back.  
_Maybe you shouldn't have bugged my phone, then!  
_Sherlock got no reply after that.  
What he did get instead was phone call from Lestrade.  
"Hey, Sherlock," Lestrade said.  
"What do you want, Gertrude?' Sherlock said crankily.  
"My name is Greg, Sherlock. Gertrude is a girl name," Lestrade snapped.  
"It seemed fitting," Sherlock muttered.  
"So Sherlock, if you are the World's Greatest Detective and your just SO brilliant at observations than how is that you never observe my BLOODY NAMETAG?" Sherlock had to hold the mobile phone away from his ear as Lestrade yelled into it.  
"Lestrade, what is it that you want?" Sherlock said, annoyed.  
"Not sure if this is relevant to your situation, but we arrested Scott Cawthon for attempting to jaywalk across the river Thames," Lestrade said.  
"How does that work? I'm pretty sure you can't jaywalk across water," Sherlock said.  
"Yeah, I know. He's a bit cold, and a bit wet at the moment. Also, he was naked when he did it."  
"WHAT?"  
"I'm joking! Anyway, Mycroft thought-"  
"Mycroft _thinks_?" Sherlock said sarcastically.  
"Shut up, Sherlock. Mycroft thought it would be a good idea if you came down to Scotland Yard to question him," Lestrade explained. Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"Fine, John and I will be there soon."  
Sherlock hung up without saying goodbye.  
"What was that about jaywalking across water?" John asked.  
"Lestrade has Cawthon down at Scotland Yard. I'm going to go down there and question him. Want to come?" Sherlock asked.  
"Yeah, sure," John said.  
They made their way out of 221B and Sherlock flipped his collar up on his trench coat in a cool sort of way, making John roll his eyes.

* * *

**Chapter complete!  
I know that in this Fanfiction, Scott Cawthon is a badie, but in real life, he's a great guy:) He donated most of his profits that he received from FNAF's to charity and stuff, which is awesome.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Finally, another chapter! Sorry about the longish wait, but both me and my writing buddy are both on the Easter Holidays, and he has two assignments to do and I have three, so there wasn't a whole heap of opportunities to write...  
Speaking of which, I'd better start on my math assignment, ha ha:)  
Happy Read:)**

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Sherlock and John approached Scotland Yard, Sherlock with his trench coat fluttering out dramatically, John trying to scrap some gum that he had stepped in off his shoe.  
"Stop that- you're ruining the dramatic effect," Sherlock hissed at John.  
"Well, good for you, Little Miss Drama Queen! Why don't you play Eye of the Tiger while you're at it?" John snapped.  
"Those insults are beneath you," Sherlock said. John said nothing.  
Lestrade was waiting for them inside his office.  
"Garrison," Sherlock greeted.  
"It's Greg, but you're getting close," Lestrade said dryly.  
"You're name is irrelevant. Where's Cawthon?" Sherlock demanded. Lestrade led Sherlock and John to the interview room.  
Inside, a man sat at a table.  
"Hello, Scott Cawthon," Sherlock said.  
"So you can remember _his _name but not mine?" Lestrade muttered under his breath.  
"Why am I here?" Cawthon asked. "All I did was try to Jaywalk across the Thames, and now I'm being treated like I slipped a whoopee cushion under the Queen's Throne!"  
"Goldfish," Sherlock muttered, using his brother's nickname for ordinary people. "You think they take people in with handcuffs for jaywalking?"  
"I'll leave you boys to it. It's time for my doughnut break," Lestrade gleamed, walking out the door.  
"Why am I even here?" Cawthon asked.  
"Mycroft seems to think that you murdered a couple of kids and have planted clues in your Game," John said. Cawthon gave a nervous laugh.  
"That's crazy!" he said.  
"Is it?" Sherlock asked.  
"Isn't it?"  
"You tell me." Sherlock said taking a seat  
"Am I invisible?" John asked, annoyed  
"Oh, hello." Cawthon said quickly "So what's this about me murdering Children?"  
"You're aware of the game you created and it's insidious nature?"  
"I wouldn't say insidious-"  
"Yes well you're a psychopath- of course you wouldn't." Sherlock cut him off.  
Scott Cawthon sat up a little straighter and gave Sherlock a sly grin.  
"Not psychopath, _Socio_path," he said. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Cawthon clearly wasn't as stupid as he pretended to be. He realized that he had underestimated him. This wasn't your typical Goldfish. He narrowed his eyes further and started to deduce Cawthon.  
Judging by is posture, Cawthon obviously spent a lot of time on computers. High forehead suggested intelligence, and purple shirt suggested-  
Wait, Purple Shirt?  
"Holy Goldfish!" Sherlock shouted, falling backwards on his chair. He quickly got up and pointed an accusing finger at Cawthon.  
"You're the Purple Guy!" he shouted. Cawthon raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.  
"Um, no?" he said.  
"I knew it! I was right! Yippee, Sherlock saves the day again!" Sherlock said happily.  
"Sherlock, I don't think he's the Purple Guy," John said, bursting his bubble.  
"Well excuuuuuuuuse me! Who's the genius in this room?" Sherlock asked.  
"I don't see any geniuses! All I see is drama-queens!" John shouted.  
"Your powers of observation are somewhat lacking," Sherlock muttered. Just when John was about to call Sherlock a tit, they were interrupted by a familiar tune playing.  
"Um, is that the Game of Thrones opening theme song?" Cawthon asked. John looked embarrassed.  
"What? It's my new ringtone!" he said. He stepped outside the room to answer his phone, muttering something about Daenerys Targaryen having a nice butt in Game of Thrones.  
Sherlock met Cawthon's eyes and his mouth tightened. The dumb, stupid look in Cawthon's eyes was replaced by the glint of sheer intelligence.  
"I know you're the Purple Guy," Sherlock hissed.  
"Well, good for you. Have fun trying to prove it," Cawthon sniggered.  
"I can tell them that you like purple and your Facebook page proves it," Sherlock said. Cawthon laughed.  
"Yeah, O.K, that sounded intelligent in my head," Sherlock muttered. "So, you're a proper genius, then?"  
"Yes, I'm a proper genius and an all-round sociopath. I'm a computer hacker, I make games for a living, and little girls and boys sound so adorable when you hear them scream," Cawthon said.  
"So you did kill the five children!" Sherlock said.  
"Yeah, so? I needed to record them screaming for my game. The real thing is like, so much scarier than that rubbish stock footage sold on E-Bay," Cawthon said simply. Sherlock grinned at Scott Cawthon.  
"You do realize that they record whatever goes on in this room, right? You've just openly admitted that you killed five children," he said smugly. But Cawthon remained unfazed.  
"The recording device, like everything now-days, is run by a computer." Cawthon held up his watch, which Sherlock realized for the first time, was an Apple Watch.  
"Those idiots that call themselves police officers forgot to remove it. I simply hacked into Scotland Yard's computer system and dismantled the recording device. When they play it back later, they will find that we were having a conversation about My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Oh, I also dismantled their alarms and security systems, so I can leave whenever I feel like it." He grinned smugly at Sherlock.  
"We live in a Hacker's Paradise. Everything is run by computers."  
Sherlock scowled at Cawthon. He hated to be outsmarted and outwitted, but most important of all…  
"They think we're talking about My Little Pony?" he asked.  
"Yes!" Cawthon said happily.  
"I can't be heard talking about My Little Pony! Do you know what the fandom that reads John's Blogs will do to me?!" Sherlock glared at Cawthon. "You have so got to go!"  
"Oh, I don't think so, Sherlock. In fact, I'm going to be sticking around for a long time." Cawthon got up off the table and started to walk out the room.  
"Oh, and Sherlock? Tell anyone of this and I'll email the My Little Pony recordings to the Johnlock community."  
"You wouldn't," Sherlock said.  
"Try me," Cawthon sneered, walking out the room. At the same time, John came in, a panicked look on his face.  
"Mary's in Labor! I have to go to the hospital! I'm gonna be a Dad!" he shouted.  
"Good for you," Sherlock muttered distractively. John pursed as he looked around the room.  
"Where's Cawthon?" he asked.  
"Gone," said Sherlock, walking out the room.

* * *

**Once again, just wanted to say that in real-life, Cawthon is awesome. In Sherlock-Topia, Cawthon is the opposite of awesome (anti-awesome?).  
Me and my friend want to give a shout out to all you awesome people reviewing and viewing this story- you guys are awesome! (I'm using the word 'awesome' a lot, aren't I? Well, that's what happens when you've just finished watching the Lego Movie, again... and again... and again... EVERYTHING IS AWESOME!)  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**So yeah, another chapter fiiiiiiiiiiiiiinaly up! Soz' for the long wait, but school has been hectic lately (year 11 and all:) and it was difficult to find time to write.  
Thanks a million for the patience!:)**

* * *

It was safe to say that Sherlock was in a bad mood. Mary going into Labor completely slipped past his mind. It wasn't that important, anyway- infants were born every nano-second after all which did terrible things to the traffic.  
John and Mrs Hudson were down at the hospital now, leaving Sherlock alone in 221B.  
That was fine with him- he needed to think without Mary and John sucking face every five minutes.  
Scott Cawthon was the Purple Guy, that much was obvious. But how could he prove that to everyone? Most important of all, how could he prove it without Scott Cawthon releasing those tapes about Sherlock talking about My Little Pony?  
_I can't believe I just thought that! Scot Cawthon- he's driving me insane!_ Sherlock thought.  
Sherlock realized he could take a leaf out of Cawthon's book and hack into Scotland Yard's Tape Recording Database. That would take care of the blackmail issue. Now he just needed to search for evidence that would link Scott Cawthon back to the murders…  
An idea presented itself in Sherlock's head.  
What if there was proof hidden inside the game? After all, Mycroft was oh-so convinced that there was.  
It would not be the first time one of these self-proclaimed 'criminal masterminds' had tried to leave a deliberate, self-destroying fact to test him (Goldfish were so stupid- didn't they know that Sherlock couldn't be tricked?), though the last time he had allowed himself rest on that assumption, it had led him to performing an unpleasant amount of falling.  
But all the same, Scott Cawthon was no Moriarty- he was not that brilliant even if Cawthon liked to think so, and there was no harm in clueing for looks in the game again.  
But first thing's first- time to hack into Scotland Yard.  
It was surprisingly easy to do, but when Sherlock was going through all the recording files, looking for the right one, the computer froze.  
_What the…?_  
Suddenly, a gif of Scot Cawthon shaking his head and jiggling a finger in disappointment popped up.  
"Stupid Goldfish," Sherlock muttered in annoyance. So much for retrieving the recording files…  
Sherlock rebooted his laptop and went on YouTube. He decided to look at some more walkthrough footage.  
After several hours of watching tedious jump scares of people pretending to be scared and a disgusting amount of extremely flawed conspiracy theories, he had come to a two conclusions.  
One, the fanbase for this game needs to die a painfully slow agonizing death and two, he would need to do his own research.  
Sighing, he opened John's Laptop, it took him less than ten seconds to guess the password (mAry.02).  
Opening up the game, he was met by the usual flashing endoskeletons, but something quite different happened when he pressed the 'New Game' button, the flashing Endoskeletons had been replaced with a single hyper realistic purple head.  
It was the Purple Guy.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
Instinct compelled him to slam shut the laptop, his natural curiosity shut down that idea, and instead he used his raised arm to hit the screenshot button.  
He immediately analyzed the screen, John's proud Three Star's for completing the legendary 20/20/20 mode were still there, in fact the entire screen was disgustingly mundane apart from the large purple head, but then Sherlock noticed it. The normal "Continue, 7th night" was no longer present.  
It had been replaced with a large, emboldened font loudly proclaiming "Night 8".  
Sherlock sighed.  
Why did these self-proclaimed "Super thinkers" always leave deliberate clues to ensure he finds them? It spoiled all of the fun.  
He sighed again and pressed the "start game" button lazily. If this Scott Cawthon was so insistent on being caught then so be it.  
The screen went blank, and the most horrifying sound in the world filled 221B.

_My_ _Little_ _Pony__, __My_ _Little_ _Pony__, __what_ _is_ _Friendship_ _all_ _about__? __My_ _Little_ _Pony,_ _My_ _Little_ _Pony__, __Friendship_ _is_ _magic__! __My_ _Little_ _Pony__, __I_ _used_ _to_ _wonder_ _what_ _Friendship_ _could_ _be__. __Until_ _you_ _shared_ _it's_ _magic_ _with_ _me__…_

Just when Sherlock was about to throw the Laptop out onto Mrs Hudson's bins, the music stopped and Foxy the Pirate Jump-scared him, making him jump.  
"Really gotta stop doing that," Sherlock muttered. The screen went black again before fading to the night guard's office. Sherlock had no doubt that he was about to witness proof of Cawthon's crimes. And most likely, Cawthon had hacked into John's laptop and was watching him closely. Perhaps there was something he could do about that….  
Quickly, Sherlock put the laptop down and raced to the kitchen. He opened a draw and took out a roll of masking tape.  
Returning to his chair, he put some masking tape over the webcam.  
_Try spying on me now, stupid Goldfish!_ Sherlock thought smugly. But he needed something more… Something to capture the evidence…  
_The Reichenbach Fall_ randomly popped into Sherlock's head.  
Of course!  
He sprinted into his room and came out with a small camera.  
It was the same camera that the assassins had used to try and get the Computer Keycodes off him in the _Reichenbach Fall_.  
The camera was called _AssassInc 5000_, one of only 125 ever made, and if you didn't have the postcode or you weren't Mycroft Holmes, it was virtually in-hackable.  
After Syncing the camera up to his own laptop, Sherlock hit the flight mode button on.  
Pleased with his work, Sherlock aimed the AssassInc 5000 at John's laptop and hit record on his own laptop.  
_Scott Cawthon, you're in for a nasty surprise! _Sherlock thought smugly. On John's laptop he started to flicker through the cameras, looking for something out of the ordinary. He was flickering through the cameras so quickly that he almost missed it. Except that he was Sherlock Holmes- he didn't miss anything.  
On the kitchen camera where there was no footage was a purple light flashing in the lower right hand corner. Frowning, Sherlock clicked on it. The purple dot expanded until the whole screen was covered.

_ENTER PASSCODE_

were the two words that popped up next to a green box.  
It took Sherlock less than a nano-second to figure out the passcode. He quickly typed in the passcode.  
_1987_.  
He grinned. Sherlock _knew _the Bite of '87 was an important!

_INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN._

Sherlock's grin quickly turned into a scowl of annoyance.  
"Dirty Goldfish," he cussed. He quickly typed in the correct passcode.

_1789._

The bite of 87' in numerological order. The purple faded and went back to the kitchen camera. But something was different. Something was so very very different.  
What he was seeing… what he was watching…  
It made Sherlock's mouth fall open and his eyes go wider then what they were when he saw Irene Addler naked.  
Because there, in the kitchen, was footage.  
"Sweet-Holy-Mother-of-all-Goldfish!" Sherlock gasped.


End file.
